


The Wanderer's Return

by wendymr



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 01:04:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/pseuds/wendymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Robbie's looking for crusty bread and pâté in the Covered Market on the afternoon of Christmas Eve when he sees out of the corner of his eye a man who shouldn't be here</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wanderer's Return

**Author's Note:**

> A Christmas present for the Lewis community on LiveJournal and AO3. Season's greetings to all! And with grateful thanks to Uniquepov for the speedy BR.

Robbie’s looking for crusty bread and pâté in the Covered Market on the afternoon of Christmas Eve when he sees out of the corner of his eye a man who shouldn’t be here.

James Hathaway’s in Chechnya, on a six-month volunteer stint that’s not up until late February, and that’s assuming Hathaway doesn’t renew for another six months. Robbie’s not heard a bloody word from the bloke since that day in August when they met for their weekly post-retirement pint or two and James landed the bombshell on him. Robbie’d been stunned and not very supportive – “Why Chechnya, of all bloody places? And why’d they take you, anyway? You don’t have international aid experience.” – and the conversation had just gone downhill from there. 

James had protested that he did have experience – “Kosovo, remember?” – and flatly stated that he was leaving in two days’ time. “I won’t be contactable,” he’d added. “Communications systems aren’t particularly good in the part of the country I’ll be going to, and they don’t want us using what little connectivity there is for anything but essential work.”

They’d parted awkwardly, with a handshake and a vague promise to see each other whenever James made it back to Oxford, and there’s not a day gone by that Robbie hasn’t regretted his reaction, or missing his chance to give his friend a proper send-off. 

The bloke he’s caught sight of can’t possibly be James. Just someone of a similar height and hair-colour, that’s all. All the same, even though he knows he’s wasting his time, Robbie turns and scans the avenue where the man he saw was headed.

Just as he expected – nothing. 

Except... wait. There’s the bloke, just moving away from the fruit and veg stall, several carrier bags in one hand. Tall, lanky, blond, and with his back to Robbie. Yet Robbie would know him anywhere. That’s James’s tall stride, his way of skirting around people who walk too slowly for his long legs, the way he carries his head. 

He breaks into a run. “James! James Hathaway!”

The man – James – pauses, then turns, head tilted curiously, and then pure pleasure steals across his narrow face. He walks towards Robbie, until they’re a few feet from each other, and each halts and looks at the other. Does James feel as awkward as Robbie does? He’d almost run at the bloke and hugged him, until he remembered that this was James and they don’t do that. Yet he wants to. Wants to hold the man close to him and not let him go for a very long time.

“You’re supposed to be in Chechnya,” he says instead, recognising the stupidity of the words as he says them.

“I could go back there if you like.” There it is: the dry, sardonic Hathaway wit that, bloody hell, he’s missed. Then James’s expression relaxes. “I’m starting a new job on the second of January, so they let me end my commitment early. I got back yesterday.”

His heart’s still thumping, and he still feels like he needs to pinch himself. It’s really James. The bloke’s really back, and he’s staying in Oxford this time. It’s the best news he’s had in ages.

“Why didn’t you phone me, man?” 

James’s gaze flits sideways towards the butchers; somehow, Robbie’s not convinced that he’s interested in shopping for chops. After a moment, James says, “It’s Christmas. I thought you’d most likely be in Manchester – or busy with your own arrangements here.”

“Well, I’m not in Manchester, as you can see. You should’ve phoned regardless.” They can’t talk properly here, in the middle of the market. Robbie glances towards the café, but discards that idea. “Come on – my car’s outside. We’ll drop your stuff off at your flat, then go for a pint.” He knows James won’t have his own transport; he hasn’t had a car since giving his official vehicle back to the Force.

“Erm.” James looks a bit embarrassed, though he falls into step with Robbie willingly enough.

“What?”

“I gave up my flat when I went to Chechnya. Couldn’t exactly keep up the rent as a volunteer, and my tenancy agreement forbade sub-letting. Have to find somewhere new after Christmas.”

Robbie frowns. “Where are you staying, then?” With one of his church friends, at a guess.

“In a B&B in Cowley.”

At Christmas? That won’t do. Not a chance. “Right, then. What’s the address?” 

James gives it, but says, “It’s fine. I don’t have anything that’ll suffer from a couple of hours in your car.”

“Forget your shopping. You’re not stayin’ in a B&B, man, and definitely not over Christmas.” He squashes down the happiness he feels at the prospect of James spending Christmas with him; he should be feeling sorry for the bloke because he’d thought his only option was an impersonal B&B. They’ve reached Robbie’s car, and he unlocks the doors. “Come on, get in,” he adds as James hesitates. 

“I really don’t want to intrude...”

“You’re not intruding, an’ I’ll be offended if you say no.” Blunt, but he knows James of old; it’s the best way to get past his objections.

“Well, if you put it like that, then I appreciate the offer very much. Thank you.” James gets into the car.

_________________________

“I won’t impose on you for long,” James says as they stow his cases in the boot. “I have a couple of flats to look at the day after Boxing Day, and if I don’t find something immediately I can go back to the B&B.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Robbie practically growls. “You’re welcome to stay at mine as long as you need. In case it needs saying–” It does, of course, and not only because he was such a prat before James left. “–I missed you.”

James seems taken aback at that, and it’s a few moments before he replies. “I missed you too, sir.” He smiles ruefully. “Sorry – Robbie. It may be a cliché, but old habits do die hard.”

“Try harder,” Robbie says, but there’s more fondness than irritation in his voice. Truth be told, he’s missed the myriad of ways in which James once called him sir.

But James’s mind is wandering down a different track. “Don’t you think you should talk to Laura first before inviting me to stay, though?”

“Laura? What for?” he’s asking, before remembering that James doesn’t know. He huffs. “Right. Would’ve told you, only for some reason I’d no way of getting in touch with you.” The chiding’s intentional; it still rankles that James has been so completely out of contact. “We’re not together any more.”

“What?” James couldn’t have sounded more shocked if he’d tried. “But you – of course, it’s none of my business.”

“Don’t be daft.” James is his friend; of course it’s his business. “Just didn’t work out. I dunno, maybe we spent so long dancing around each other that by the time it finally happened it was too late.” That, and many other things: two very different people trying to merge lives and interests that were also very different; Robbie retired while Laura was still working long hours and with no interest in cutting back; and, oddly enough, the fact that he missed James. That shouldn’t have had an impact on their relationship, except that every time he’d mentioned James’s absence Laura had given him an odd look, which she’d always refused to explain. It’d grated, after a bit.

“We’re still friends,” he adds quickly, to reassure James, who does seem a bit cut up about the news. “Don’t think anything would ever change that. Honestly, I think we’re better friends than we were anything else. So, no, you’re not interrupting Laura’s and my first Christmas as a couple, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“All right. Why aren’t you in Manchester, then, if you’re on your own?” James still sounds genuinely concerned. It’s reassuring, though Robbie’s not completely sure why. He hadn’t really believed that James, in disappearing off to Chechnya, was turning his back on a friendship that no longer interested him, had he?

“Timing. Lyn’s pregnant again and due in a couple of weeks. Told her it was too much for her to have me there for Christmas on top of everything else. I’ll go up after the bairn’s born.”

A wide smile spreads across James’s face. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” He grins himself. “An’ you used up all the granddad smart-arse comments last time. I know you hate being unoriginal.”

“I can still call you _Dedushka_. That’s granddad in Russian,” he adds as Robbie gives him a blank look. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Stopped at traffic lights, he takes advantage of a moment or two to study James. He’s looking well: healthy, refreshed and without the weary, strained air that continually hung around him in their last six months or so on the job. Being out of the force definitely suits him. Which reminds him... “New job?”

“Mmm. Daytime supervisor at a youth drop-in centre.”

Robbie’s eyebrows shoot up. It couldn’t be...? “Which one?” James names it, and Robbie shakes his head in disbelief. “I volunteer there two days a week. They said a new supervisor was coming – bloke with youth work experience and a background in criminal justice. I never imagined...” He stares at James for a moment before returning his concentration to the road.

James actually laughs. “I think I’m looking forward to the job even more now. This is going to be fascinating.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, technically...” Yes, that’s a full-blown smirk. “I will be your boss.”

Robbie’s jaw drops. “You will an’ all. Well, that’ll be interesting, then, if you fall into old habits again an’ call me sir.”

_________________________

He parks outside his flat, and gets a puzzled look from James. “Have you moved _again_?”

“You make it sound like I’ve been around half of Oxford. Moved in with Laura not long after you left, and then when we decided to call it off I needed to find somewhere else. This place is bigger,” he adds as they take James’s bags out of the boot. “Even have a spare bedroom for you.” He leads the way inside, asking as they go, “Where’s all the rest of your stuff?”

“In storage – I couldn’t take it all to Chechnya. There wasn’t much, though. None of the furniture was mine, and I wasn’t interested in keeping much beyond personal items.”

“Your guitar?” That’s not with the items James brought from the B&B, and he can’t ever imagine the bloke parting with it.

“In storage.” James looks distinctly unhappy. “It wasn’t considered advisable to bring something like that with me.”

Robbie leads the way into the spare room; the bed’s made up, but otherwise it’s a bit sparse apart from the furniture. “See if the storage place is open now an’ we can go and get your stuff.”

“I couldn’t possibly take advantage–”

Robbie sighs. “Do I have to tell you again not to be so daft? Besides, think I like the idea of you owing me a second time for reuniting you with your guitar.”

_________________________

When they come back the second time and the rest of James’s belongings have been deposited in the spare room, Robbie leads the way through to the open-plan kitchen, dining area and living room. Like the bedrooms and bathroom, this area is much larger than his last flat, and now that he’s retired he finds that he likes the extra space.

This year, too, it’s given him room for a Christmas tree as well as other decorations. He’s never really bothered with decorations since losing Val, and always used either work or travelling up to see Lyn as an excuse, though really he just didn’t have the heart for it. This year, even though he was expecting to spend Christmas alone, for some reason he felt seized by the desire to make his home look festive. He’d felt a bit foolish once everything was up – all of this fuss, just for him? – but now he’s got James to share it with. If he were anything other than the pragmatic man he’s always been, he’d wonder if something had been trying to tell him that he wouldn’t be alone for Christmas... but that’s rubbish.

Though he did also just happen to buy a turkey breast joint that’s big enough for two, and he’s got enough vegetables and other essentials to make a perfectly adequate Christmas dinner for both of them.

James touches his arm lightly. “This is lovely, Robbie. I should feel guilty for putting you to the trouble of having me here, but instead I just feel very fortunate that we ran into each other.”

He runs his hand lightly down James’s back. “You’re not the only one. I’d have been on me own tomorrow if you hadn’t turned up out of the blue.” He goes into the kitchen for two bottles of their old favourite, Abingdon Bridge. “What’s it you said to me years ago? Thank goodness we found each other?”

He’s highly amused by the pink stain that creeps up James’s face in response.

_________________________

Dinner’s a takeaway, and they spend the evening chatting, catching up. James actually talks about Chechnya and the work he did there, contrary to his usual reticence about anything personal. It wasn’t easy, that’s clear, and at times it was dangerous, but it seems to have been rewarding – at least, James has come away with a sense of achievement that he’d lost by the time he resigned from the police.

Robbie talks about the drop-in centre, filling in some background for James and giving him an outline of existing activities. Not too much detail, though; James says he wants to see things for himself and make up his own mind whether he thinks anything needs changing. But, he says, he’ll want to draw on Robbie’s experience as he goes – as long as Robbie is okay with that.

“Hah, so I’m not completely dispensable, then?”

James’s snort is all the answer that’s needed.

By the time they part company for bed, it almost feels as if James has never been away. It’s a huge relief to know that their friendship is as solid as ever. Robbie knows he took that a bit for granted when he retired; okay, he was a bit uncertain when he asked James whether he’d want to meet up for a pint every now and then, but the bloke’s reaction, and the fact that James never missed one of their arranged meetings, had led Robbie to believe that nothing would or could change. Until James went to Chechnya without so much as a forwarding address.

Now he’s back, with a new job in Oxford, and that’s bloody marvellous.

_________________________

Christmas morning is cold, though not too cold for the two of them to go for a walk after breakfast, and when they get back it’s time to start dinner. Robbie’s got pretty good at cooking in the past six months or so; he wouldn’t need to ask James now how to tell when something’s cooked. Still, it’s nice to have company in the kitchen, and the kitchen in this flat’s big enough for the two of them to work together, even if they do brush hands occasionally, or even bodies as they move around each other. That just seems to make the experience nicer still, somehow.

After dinner, they take the remains of their second bottle of wine to the sitting room, and slump together on the couch, full and pleasantly light-headed. Robbie picks up the telly remote, and James groans. “No, not the Queen’s speech, please!”

Robbie pulls a face. “Was only gonna see when the Doctor Who special’s on.” James has his phone out in an instant, and shows him that it’s not until the evening. “Why don’t you give us some music, then? I’ve never heard you play.”

James gets his guitar, and soon Robbie’s enthralled by the talent his friend has with the instrument. One well-known carol after another fills the room with beautiful sound, and James’s fingers caress the strings with gentle deftness. He leans his head back, letting his eyes drift partly shut and allowing the sound to wash over him. He’s definitely feeling mellow, very happy and extremely fortunate – not least to have his best mate in the world here with him in his own living room.

And that turns the idle thought he’d had last night in bed into a firm resolve: he’s going to invite James to move into the flat with him. It makes complete sense, he thinks. They get on very well together. After more than seven years, they know the worst as well as the best about each other, and they’re still fond of each other. They enjoy doing the same sort of things outside work. They both like relaxing evenings sprawled together on the couch in front of the telly. So why not?

He’ll suggest it to James later, he decides. Right now, he’s just enjoying listening to his best mate playing – and watching James, too, the expression of intense concentration on his face, the way his features change when he’s pleased with something he’s just played, and the soft smile that touches his lips whenever he glances up and sees Robbie watching him.

“You’re brilliant,” he tells the bloke when James pauses. “Better than anything on the telly.”

James blushes. “I’m really not that good, Robbie. But I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“I did.” 

James’s gaze meets his, strangely shy and uncertain. “I am glad. I’d been feeling bad that I didn’t have a Christmas present for you.”

Something inside Robbie’s close to bursting, and he realises what it is: he’s happier than he’s been for a very long time, and a huge part of that is James. He smiles back at his friend. “You already gave me the best present I could’ve had. You came home.”

James’s eyes widen, and something in his expression changes as he continues to stare at Robbie. And suddenly so many things fall into place. Why he never felt things were completely right with Laura. Why he missed James so much. What Laura meant by those funny looks she gave him. Why having James back in Oxford to stay is making him so very happy.

And, perhaps, why James went away so abruptly in the first place. Has James felt this way for a long time? Did he need to escape from the hurt of seeing Robbie with someone else?

Christ, he’s been blind and stupid. Just as well he’s a _retired_ detective.

It’s not too late, though. He extends a hand to James. “C’mere.”

Looking as if he barely dares to believe what he’s seeing, James does, settling back on the couch next to Robbie. “Sorry. Sometimes I can be a bit slow on the uptake,” he murmurs, tugging James closer still. “I do get there in the end, though.” 

A half-laugh escapes James. “Better late than never.” 

“True.” He raises his free hand to stroke his fingers over James’s face, and his heart leaps when James shivers and his eyes close in response.

“Robbie.” James says his name in a shaky whisper, and it’s Robbie’s turn to shiver. He leans in and frames James’s face, just as James leans towards him. 

Finally, finally, after almost eight years... they kiss.

**Author's Note:**

>  _“...Look at the world how wide it is and thou_  
>  _How small! And thou hast dared to be alone.''_  
>  _And lo, the last long flight of cranes was gone,_  
>  _And darkness with its folding pity crept_  
>  _Over the plain. I hid my face and wept,_  
>  _Till sleep fell on me. But, when dawn was come,_  
>  _I turned my steps to what had been my home._  
>  \- The Wanderer’s Return, by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt (1840-1922)


End file.
